Little Boxes on The Hillside
by TheRedRidingHood
Summary: OneShot; Tim and Raylan are trapped in an elevator and Tim isn't a fan of tight spaces.This is my first Justified ntains some language and suggestions of violence.Tim is an enigma to us so I'm exploring him through some one shot shorts, expect more!


"Oh well motherfuck it all to hell" Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens felt his whole day turn to shit as the elevator lurched to a halt.

It was between floors, and the lights flickered as it juddered to a stop, falling silent and still.

"What?" fellow Marshal Tim Gutterson was riding with Raylan, both having arrived to the courthouse at the same time "We're not stuck" he said firmly.

Raylan punched the button for their floor, the elevator doing a grand total of absolutely nothing in response. He tried other floors to the same end, sighing in exasperation and pulling off his trademark Stetson as his head got hot, trying the door open button for pointless fun before looking around for the panel concealing the emergency phone.

"We're not stuck" Tim repeated.

"We're stuck" Raylan said, wondering if the issue would affect the phone too, or if it was just something mechanical.

"We're not stuck" Tim said again, an edge of something entering his voice.

Raylan shot him a glance. The younger Marshal looked…off. For him. Normally the picture of detached calm, Tim's eyes had gone wide in that way he had, that made him look incredibly young. His lips were pressed together in thin lines and he seemed pale.

The sight was so unexpected that Raylan missed the voice on the other end of the phone, asking who was there.

"We're in the third elevator" Raylan hurriedly told the voice "It's stopped between floors and isn't moving at all. We tried the other buttons but nothings working"

"Oh?" The guy asked "Alright, gimme a sec"

The line didn't go entirely dead, but the phone had been set down for a moment and Raylan turned back to Tim "They're just checking what's up" he said, keeping his tone calm and light.

Tim had begun to sweat, "We're not stuck"

"No we're not" Raylan agreed, realising Tim was close to panic "We'll be moving again soon"

"Hello?" the voice was back "Uuh…yeah. These elevators aren't switched over to being on the computer system yet, so we can't tell you what's wrong without getting the engineer in. I just called and he'll be over within the hour"

"And after that how long are we looking at?" Raylan asked.

"Man, if I could tell you that, I'd be the engineer" the guy chuckled "I've got a guy checking where you are in relation to a floor; if you're half up or down on a level we can pry the doors and get you out, if you're totally between floors well…then you may be there a while. I can call you back on this phone when I have word and just listen out for my guy knockin' on your doors" he hung up before Raylan could say more.

Raylan set the phone back in the cradle, turning to Tim, who, if anything, looked younger and more worried.

"We're stuck?" he asked.

"It looks that way" Raylan explained "The guy" he motioned to the phone "He's got the engineer coming and another guy is gonna try and pry the doors for us but uh…we're looking at an hour minimum"

To say Tim collapsed would be unfair. He sat, carefully, on the ground, cross legged and with his back pressed against the wall. It wasn't a collapse. But it was clear staying on his feet was not going to happen.

Raylan mirrored him, opting to stretch his legs out since jeans didn't make for comfortable leg crossing. Tim had closed his eyes, his forehead creasing as some emotion Raylan couldn't read played across his features. His breathing was changing in a way Raylan didn't like, getting deeper but faster. He seemed, from the way his knuckles had gone white as he curled his hands into fists, to be trying to calm himself, but Raylan wasn't sure it was helping.

"Um…" Raylan asked "So will talking help?"

"Maybe" Tim said, his tone clipped.

"What kind of talking?" Raylan asked.

Tim didn't answer, his breathing getting deeper. He opened his eyes, shaking his head as real panic began to show in his face, sweat beading on his brow.

"You need to slow your breathing" Raylan said quietly, "I know it's easier said than done but breathe in for a count of three, hold for three, let it out for three" he told him.

Tim nodded to acknowledge he'd heard him, but didn't seem able to follow the instructions, his head dipping slight as the hyperventilation began to make him dizzy.

"Tim" Raylan made his voice hard "listen to me, now. Slow your breathing. In for three, hold for three, out for three" he ordered.

Tim nodded again, but he seemed to have slipped past the point of control.

Raylan rolled onto his knees, shuffling the short distance to the younger man and knelt in front of him, forcing him to make eye contact.

He regretted it. Tim's eyes were wide, wild and full of real fear. Raylan could see him slipping away, into some memory or other place that fed the panic. Tim broke the eye contact, glancing around the elevator as if checking the walls weren't closing in. He shook his head again, looking back to Raylan as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

"In a very short amount of time, we'll be out of here and we can go outside for a long walk and some fresh air" Raylan spoke softly and slowly, forcing Tim to have to focus to listen "So you can relax. I'm here too and nothing is going to happen"

It felt strange talking this way to Tim. Tim was unshakable. Tim barely ever even got mad and if he did the reason was always sound. He never showed fear. He never seemed ruffled. This was serious.

Tim nodded again, but he wasn't getting calmer.

Raylan moved back to the phone, the guy on the other end picking up quickly "Your boy alright in there?" he was already asking before Raylan could speak "We got you on the cameras and he looks sort of shitty"

"You think?" Raylan asked, fighting the urge to throw a 'duh' in at the end "What's our timeframe looking like?"

"It's reduced by four minutes from when we last spoke" the guy said more than a little sarcastically.

"What about your guy?" Raylan asked, trying not to imagine himself throwing this asshole off the courthouse roof at some stage later in the day, when Tim was okay again.

"Four minutes, dude" the guy said "Give him a second"

Raylan fought the urge to smash the phone into pieces, opting instead to place it back in the cradle and turn back to Tim. The younger man had pulled his legs up so he could drop his head between his knees and try to breathe.

A 'clang' echoed through the elevator, making Raylan jump and Tim do…nothing, just continue to have a nervous breakdown. "Hello?" a voice came through the door, decidedly muffled but audible "Hey? We're gonna pry the door for you, so you all can get out? I just gotta crank the door?" the voice called as Raylan edged closer in order to hear better.

"Are you _asking_ me or _telling_ me?" Raylan snapped "Just open the damn door!"

Silence followed, but Raylan could hear the vague thumps and cranks of someone doing…something mechanical, he figured using some sort of manual crank to open the doors.

"Tim, you hear that man? They're already getting us out of here" Raylan turned back to Tim, who managed the tiniest of nods but didn't otherwise move. The doors began to part, a half an inch at the time, with slow and then sudden jerks. Raylan moved back to Tim, hoping to encourage him to sit closer to the door, so he could be the first out, but Tim was going nowhere, fast.

As the doors parted, Raylan could see they had gotten almost halfway up to their floor before the elevator died. A few onlookers had gathered and Raylan was fairly sure that a pair of tan slacks and shiny black shoes belonged to their mutual boss, Art Mullen. As the doors opened slightly, the tan slacks moved as Art knelt down to see in.

"Well hi!" Art said brightly, though his mirth faded quickly when he saw the sad little figure that was currently his most dangerous and scary Marshal "Oh…is he okay?"

"I don't know how he likes being stuck in an elevator" Raylan said quickly, moving back to Tim and hauling the younger man to his feet.

Tim let himself be picked up, grabbing on to Raylan's upper arm hard enough that Raylan gave an involuntary hiss of pain.

"Imma give you a boost like you'd get at school when you were tryna see into the girls locker room" Raylan said, hoping the joke would help, but Tim was too focused on the fact he'd get out to laugh.

Raylan laced his fingers and braced them on his leg for Tim to step into, the lift not really so big, but Tim in no state to haul himself up. Art's bad old knees prevented him from getting down to help, but two other Marshals were already there, gripping Tim's arms to pull him out. When he was clear, Art took over, leaving the Marshals to help Raylan.

Art had already hustled Tim through to the conference room at the back of the Marshal's office, opening the rarely, if ever opened curtains to give a view of the world outside. The room seemed suddenly massive, brighter and more open, and while it wasn't 'outside' it was close enough for now. Getting to the real outdoors would mean the stairs or the lift, neither of which were plausible at this time.

Rachel Brooks had already appeared with a glass of water and Tim, while still pale and shaking, seemed at least slightly recovered.

Art closed the door to the conference room, leaving the blinds open but making it clear, with a glower to gathering, concerned Marshals, that their rubbernecking was not appreciated.

It took a few seconds of Tim's hands shaking too much to reach for the glass of water before Art ducked into his office, sharing a door with the conference room, returning with a bottle of something amber and two tumblers.

He poured out two fingers of bourbon into each tumbler, leaving his own while he grabbed Tim's hand and helped him close his fingers around the glass. Tim let him do it, giving a nod to indicate he could take over then.

He took a few breaths to steady himself and downed the drink in one swallow, slamming the glass back down with a gritted teeth growl at the burn. Art was reaching for his own, but Tim beat him to it, his hand moving so fast it was a blur. He set the second, empty glass down, folding his arms on the desktop and lowering his head into them.

Art's eyebrows had shot north when Tim reached for the second drink and stayed there as he turned to look at Raylan with a question in his eyes.

Raylan shook his head to indicate he had no idea what was going on, but Art shot a glance back at Tim to suggest, politely, Raylan hoped, that he find out.

Gathering up the glasses, and the bottle, Art and Rachel took their leave and Raylan dropped into a seat opposite Tim's. His body ached, _ached_ for a coffee, especially now, but leaving Tim to go and get it just seemed…wrong.

It took a few minutes of silence before Raylan felt he had to say something.

"Now, I know those two little tots there didn't make you fall asleep. I'm fairly certain your constitution rivals…only my own" Raylan stated "So…you doin' better?"

With his forehead still resting on his arms, Tim gave a nod.

"Say _something_, man. Anything" Raylan pleaded.

"Something, man, anything" Tim rattled off, voice muffled and dulled from his face being smooshed against his arms.

"You ought to do stand up, anyone ever tell you?" Raylan rolled his eyes.

Tim sat up, moving slow as if he was hurting.

His eyes were red rimmed and Raylan did, he felt, a great job of being very interested in his nails while Tim swept his hands over his face and left his cheeks drier than they had been.

All at once, Tim looked young and incredibly tired, as if the entire thing, the last twenty minutes since that was all it had been, had totally drained him. He slumped in the chair, eyes fixed on some distant point in time and memory, the shakes and panic slowly subsiding.

The glass of water Rachel had provided was still there, and Raylan leaned across the table to nudge it closer to Tim's hand, remind him about it. The younger Marshal looked at it as if he'd not known it was there, reaching for it and taking a long drink.

"Bourbon" Tim started, his voice rasping before he coughed to clear his throat "On top of coffee, before breakfast, is a stupid fuckin' idea" he finally looked at Raylan, coming back from what ever place he'd gone to.

Tim rarely swore, only doing so when shit had gotten really bad, either for him or on the job. He winced slightly, rubbing at his stomach as the liquor presumably sloshed around and worked it's mischief on him.

"I tend to think the whole morning so far has been a bad idea" Raylan mused "So…if you don't want to tell me that's fine, but, you know…what the hell was all of that?"

Tim shook his head, offering a weak smile "Nothing. Little bit of claustrophobia is all"

"Really? Cos I've never seen you have a problem like that in a small space…ever. We ride those elevators every day" Raylan asked gently.

Tim shrugged, his gaze shifting as he made small, fidgety movements in his chair. Raylan knew then that he was on to something. Tim got fidgety when you touched on subjects he didn't like, almost always his time spent in Afghanistan as a Sniper with the Army Rangers.

It only stood out because he was normally the picture of stillness and calm. Whether it was a question about his own service or his opinion or input on what other former army and service folks did, Tim got twitchy.

"I only got a problem with small spaces when I think I'm stuck in one" Tim shrugged again.

"It took you a minute and a half to have what amounted to a breakdown" Raylan said, keeping his voice as calm and gentle as possible, wanting Tim to know he wasn't being judged or picked on "That's a pretty serious problem with 'em"

Tim took a breath, holding it for a second as if considering his answer. He blew it out slowly, offering a third shrug "I don't like being locked up"

Raylan sensed he was on the edge of something here "I don't think anyone does" he said quietly "Any reason it gets you quite so…agitated?"

Tim was silent, not in a sullen or sulking way, but in a way that let Raylan know this wasn't easy talking territory.

"If you really must know" he said after an achingly long silence "It was really only one thing that caused it"

He had yet to look back at Raylan, his eyes fixed on the door behind Raylan's shoulder, the one leading to the locker room. There was nothing to see on the door, it was just something to fix his gaze on other than the man sitting in front of him.

"That thing being?" Raylan asked.

Tim took another breath, shifting in his seat almost as if he was leaning away from Raylan, from the scrutiny he was now under. Raylan felt fairly certain that if the Rangers could teach people how to just disappear into thin air…moreso than they already did, then that was what Tim was trying to do right now. There was a tension to him, like a wire with a charge running through it.

"It doesn't matter. I'll just take the stairs from now on" he said dismissively.

"It kind of does matter" Raylan said "Man, what happens if we're on a case and that sort of thing happens to ya? I need to know what situations to avoid so I don't lose a vital man in the field when we're out there in the middle of it…I need to know the triggers"

"Small spaces and being stuck in em" Tim snapped, getting mad now "That's your triggers right there"

"But _why_?" Raylan asked.

Tim glared at him, real anger in his eyes, but something else too, something hard to define.

He seemed to be debating with himself, the fidgeting getting worse as if he was building himself up to something.

"You ever been…" he finally broke " in the desert, had one of your friends shot to death in front of you then been captured by the enemy and had a bag put over your head? Then had the ever loving shit kicked out of you in a variety of ways, before bein' stuffed in a car trunk and driven around for six hours, waiting to be pulled out of there and beheaded on camera? And not imagining you might be beheaded on camera, but told it? Because I have. And it has a lasting effect on your ability to be in small spaces" Tim said quickly.

Raylan was catching flies. He closed his mouth, swallowed, taken aback by the bluntness. "You uh…that happened?" he asked.

"No, I made it up to shut you up" Tim all but rolled his eyes, recovering some of his edge, some his…sass, almost, the fighting spirit Raylan was more familiar with.

Raylan chewed his lip, in uncertain territory now "So…did you survive?" he asked, keeping his tone light, hoping Tim would appreciate the attempt at brevity.

"Tragically…no" Tim said, his tone deadly serious.

"Shit" Raylan mused.

He let the silence sit since there was no tension in it and he had some thinking to do. "How do you get out of something like that?" he asked quietly.

Tim was quiet for a while more "Most of these…kids in the desert they don't frisk you real well. They're just happy they have an American prisoner and a sniper, no less. They're bad guys, technically, but what they are really is angry teenagers with a head full of confused ideologies and a cheap video camera. So while they might have searched me some and kicked my ass more, they miss things. I had some shit to work with"

"Meaning?" Raylan shook his head, confused.

A shadow passed over Tim's features as he went somewhere dark and scary "I had a big knife, and the element of surprise, and six hours to get good and angry" he said slowly.

"Did you kill em?" Raylan asked softly.

Tim was still in that dark and scary place, his eyes almost hidden behind shadow as he kept his head dipped low "Only some of em. I had to find my way home, after all. Omair helped with that"

"Omair?" Raylan asked, hearing the 'I' drop into place to give the name a slightly different sound from the more familiar 'Omar'.

"Oh he was their de facto leader. 'Bout nineteen, still had acne and just barely had a beard, and for being nineteen he looked about four years south of that. But he was the one who shot my buddy, so he was the one who I had drive me somewhere familiar and he was the one I handed over as a prisoner"

"So you killed all but one of them?" Raylan clarified.

Tim finally looked up at him, still in that dark place, the look in his eyes nailing Raylan to his seat and sending a bolt of cold fear through him "I left em bleeding but if they died I don't know it. Most folks die when you do that to their throats with a combat knife"

Raylan didn't touch that one, wanting very much to be…away from this conversation. One last thought struck him.

"How old were you when this happened?" he asked "I mean how long ago was it, how long has the claustrophobia followed you? I'm just wondering if there's not someone you can talk to…"

"I had counselling" Tim shrugged "That's why I can be in an elevator at all" he told Raylan.

Raylan nodded, giving an 'oh' of understanding but waited on his answer.

"And I guess I was a few years in to my service but not near the end…I was twenty four?" Tim told him "So just under a decade, it's been following me round but…like I say, what you just saw was the end result of a lot of work"

His tone had lifted, his demeanour changed. He was into the groove of talking now, less angry and wound up about it, the bourbon doing it's wonderful work. The casual way he dropped his age in made Raylan want to cry a little. At 24 he'd graduated college and was heading to Glynco, all on Aunt Helen's dime since she wouldn't see him die down a mine.

At the same age Tim had been doing shit Raylan had never and likely would never have to do, and his work habits saw him in dire, mortal danger damn near every week.

"Well…shit" he surmised.

Tim had gone silent again, thoughtful and introspective. He was staring in that way someone does when they're only half listening to what's happening outside their own head "Hey Raylan" he said quietly.

Raylan looked at him, surprised to see a very young, vulnerable expression on Tim's face "Between us, right?"

"Far as I'm concerned you're 'just' not a fan of tight spaces" Raylan told him gently "But uh…if you ever do want to talk more about anything, shit like that, what ever…I'm around, man. You don't have to carry it by yourself"

Tim nodded "I won't lie, I may never take that offer up. But I do appreciate it" he said "I guess I gotta go see if Art want's me workin' with this much bourbon in me"

"Given how freely Art hands it out, I'm pretty sure he considers a drunk office a functional office" Raylan joked, rising to his feet as Tim did "if he gives you the day off, meet me at Linekers later, I'll buy you dinner and we can avoid talking about painful subjects while we drink"

"Oh that sounds nice" Tim gave a ghost of a smile "Um…thanks"

Raylan shook his head "It's nothing " he shrugged "Go find out if you faked your way into a day off"

"Faked?" Tim smirked "You're on to me then"

He took his leave, Raylan watching him edge sheepishly into Art's office. The older man crossed the room in two steps to speak quietly to Tim, paternal concern writ all over his features as Tim visibly made up an on the spot fib about what exactly had happened.

Art glanced back at Raylan as Tim talke,d obviously doing the math and figuring it had taken Tim a lot longer to talk to Raylan than it was to him, easily spotting he wasn't being totally honest. Raylan offered the boss a shrug and a smile, heading out of the office and, finally, into his day of work.


End file.
